Alistair POV
I shouldn't have taken anything from her.
I know that.
I repeated it to myself all the way back from the Night Market, the stolen item burning a hole in my coat pocket like guilt and inevitability fused together.
But knowing something is wrong doesn't stop me.
Not when it concerns her.
The object is small, just a scrap of fabric she brushed against while looking through a stall of old trinkets. But it holds enough of her scent, enough of her energy, enough of that faint silver pulse beneath her skin.
Enough for a test.
I close the door of the abandoned safehouse behind me. The air inside is stale, metallic, humming faintly with the residue of a hundred forbidden spells. I used to avoid this place. Now I rely on it more than I should.
My hands move before my thoughts do—automatic, practiced, methodical.
The tools lay themselves out across the table: silver scalpel, obsidian dish, cracked runic lens still warm from a previous reading. All illegal. All dangerous. All necessary.
I place the fabric in the center of the dish.
The moment my fingers let go, the fabric twitches like it's alive.
A whisper crawls up the back of my neck.
Not now.
Not yet.
I exhale and press my palm over the dish.
My blood responds instantly—red heat threading beneath my skin, reacting to hers like metal drawn to a magnet.
"Show me," I say quietly.
The runes flare.
Light spills out, violent, silver-blue, too bright for what it should be. I raise an arm to shield my eyes, but I can't look away.
Her energy leaps from the dish like it's trying to take shape.
Like it's remembering something.
My breath stops.
The seal…
It's… cracking.
Not fully broken.
Not yet.
But splitting, bleeding light through the fractures like starlight trying to escape a prison.
"No," I whisper, leaning closer.
The runic lens shakes.
The obsidian dish vibrates.
A familiar pull forms in my chest, which I know all too well—fear, sharp and cold.
I haven't felt fear in decades.
But this—her—she's changing too fast.
The lines of prophecy I never wanted to remember crawl to the front of my mind:
When the Veiled Star awakens,
the worlds will kneel or burn.
I clench my jaw.
This should not be happening.
Not now.
Not after I—
I force the thought away.
The test sparks again, flaring hard enough to scorch the table. A symbol ripples through the air—something ancient, lost, forbidden.
Something that should not exist.
I stumble back.
"If your seal breaks completely…" I murmur to the empty room, "…you'll tear the veil open."
And everyone—everything—will come for her.
The hunters.
The Dominion.
The one in the shadows whispering her name.
She won't stand a chance.
My hands are shaking. I hate that. I tense them until the tremor stops.
I never wanted to get involved again. I never wanted to care.
But I don't have a choice, do I?
I snatch the dish off the table and crush it in my hands. Obsidian shatters, slicing my palm open. Blood drips onto the floor, hissing as it hits the runes.
I don't care.
"I have to protect you," I breathe, voice low. "Even if you never forgive me for what's coming."
Even if she learns what I've done.
Even if she learns what I used to be.
Even if she realizes the truth I've tried so long to bury—
That I'm not here by chance.
That I found her on purpose.
I close my bleeding hand, letting the pain ground me.
"Starlight… this time, I won't let you die."
And if I have to become a monster all over again?
Then so be it.